


Cross My Heart

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Happy Ending, OQ Happy Ending Week, Pre-Regina's First Dark Curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 11:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15266112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: It's Robin of the Hood, not the Sheriff of Nottingham, that Cora brings to introduce to Regina to set her master plan into motion—but she rather underestimates the invisible bond between the soulmates, and her plan unravels even as their hearts entwine.





	Cross My Heart

It all feels...unreal.

Her dress is blue, an echo of a past long lost. It envelops her in a cloud of lavender and nostalgia—and the faint whiff of hope she thought life, and she herself, had long snuffed out. It’s almost as if the gown were imbued with magic strong enough to reverse time, and pain, and the descent of darkness upon her once light soul.

It feels unreal—and yet here he is, his tread so light it’s barely discernible behind her, and she half expects him to have disappeared by the time they reach the courtyard.

Her soulmate, the man with the lion tattoo, the one she’s destined to be with, doesn’t run though—and Regina wonders if perhaps pixie dust isn’t a scam after all, if her mother really has turned over a new leaf and acted selflessly at last, if the man before her truly was given the truth and a choice.

If he really might have chosen her.

Regina’s skin still tingles and burns where Robin Hood placed a feather-light kiss upon her hand.

She’s talking, facing away from him so as not to stare too much at that damn tattoo, or stare too hard into those eyes that draw her impossibly in, and her stomach does a funny little flip when she realises she’s telling him about Daniel and feels not the slightest hint of inhibition about it.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, milady.”

It’s the first time he’s spoken since their brief greeting, and Regina turns around to absorb the warmth from his voice and his gaze. What she finds reflected back is neither pity nor judgment but a gentle, wistful sort of understanding.

“Thank you. And I prefer Regina.”

He tests her name on his tongue; it has a unique ring to it she thinks she’ll come to cherish and associate with him and him only. She finds herself gravitating towards him, barely half a step away from the arms bearing that mysterious image that marks him as hers. Toned arms, ones she’s tempted to explore with her fingertips.

“What about you, Robin of the Hood?” she husks, a flush creeping up her cheeks at how throaty she sounds. “Where do you come from—and why?”

He swallows heavily and doesn't move away, but doesn’t reach for her either.

“I’m afraid my purpose here is rather painfully obvious. I’ve come to steal the Queen’s heart.”

His smirk is cocky but doesn't quite reach his eyes, and Regina's bold _can’t steal something that’s been given to you_ sticks to the roof of her mouth.

Her quizzical look is answered by a shifting gaze, clear blue eyes flicking from her tree to the rosebushes scattered about the garden.

Just as doubt worms itself into her heart, he’s stepping forward, hands settling lightly over her hips.

He's going to kiss her, and she very nearly trembles with anticipation.

Still, he's taking his sweet time, eyes sliding over her features as if every dip and curve meant something to him. Regina licks her lips, her belly tightening with uncertainty as her tongue swipes just past the scar marring her features. It’s ugly, an imperfection her mother and her pitiful excuse for a husband never missed a chance to at least glare at, if not comment on, and what if her soul mate finds it equally revolting?

“Apologies,” he whispers—and closes the distance between them.

It’s...overwhelming. The moment their lips meet, it sets her ablaze, crackling and sizzling and skittering across her skin, setting her nerves alight. He’s gentle but firm, his mouth warm and pliant, the contrast between that and the prickle of his stubble absolutely delicious. He’s cradling her head as his fingers dive into her hair, and she moans, just can’t help it, when he scratches her scalp ever so lightly, and all she can think of is _yes_ and _oh god,_ and _more,_ and whatever is he even apologising for when he’s kissing her like _that_?

He chases her lips one last time, a short, soothing little peck, and drags his mouth over her cheek, her temple, her earlobe. During his foray , he discovers a spot behind her ear even she had no idea makes her weak in the knees, but barely brushes it much to her chagrin, chasing her shiver with a whisper that chills her to the bone:

“We need to talk. Somewhere your mother can’t see.”

* * *

 

His words cut.

They cut deep, inflicting wounds upon her he can just about see swirling and spilling in her eyes as, molten and sparkling in the aftermath of their kiss, they rapidly cloud with betrayal, then a flicker of hurt before closing off entirely.

It pains him in ways he wasn’t prepared for.

Much like he wasn’t prepared for the kiss he should never have allowed to happen, or the way it simultaneously stirred and soothed his soul.

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

The large double doors fly open to let them through, and Regina—or the Queen, for she may very well no longer wish for him to address her with anything akin to familiarity—seals her chambers’ entrance shut behind them with a mere wave of her hand that has magic shimmering and fading behind his back. Then, without so much as a glance at him, she disappears in a plume of purple smoke, only to reappear utterly transformed. Pale blue has given way to charcoal black, and the fact she’s technically wearing a gown doesn’t fool him—it’s armour she’s donned, no doubt about that.

“My mother put you up to this,” she says, her kohl-rimmed eyes impenetrable. Even her voice is different—the Queen’s being deeper, heavier than that of the Regina he was first introduced to. Before he can respond, she’s upon him, grabbing and twisting his arm until he’s wincing. When the ink won’t submit to whatever enchantment it is that creeps over his skin like white-hot needles, she frowns. “That’s a real tattoo. Not magic.”

“That it is.”

She lets go of him that very instant, eyes widening before she schools her features again and moves away, stalking over to her full-length mirror.

“Well?” she demands, looking at him through the shiny reflection with an arched brow and raised chin. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

Robin sighs, finding himself wondering how to break the news to her gently. She’s already devastated, and that weighs harder on him than he can presently justify. There’s no easy way to confront the fact someone who should by design love and protect one seeks only to manipulate for what can’t be the first time.

“She found me in my tavern,” he tells her true, scratching his nape because that next part still puzzles him. “Said her daughter had her heart set on me. That I could be king. I told her I wasn’t interested. She countered with the offer of a hefty bribe.”

“Which you accepted.” Her words are hollow, yet dripping bitterness, and they make shame rise and flood his chest even though the matter is less black-and-white than she imagines.

“Not at first, no. Later, though, after I’d given it some thought…”

“Everybody has a price.”

“Perhaps,” he settles on. “Be that as it may, the thought she might simply hire someone else irked me. I sought her out and accepted, resolved to reveal her machinations as soon as an opportunity presented itself.”

“And what would you ask in return? More gold? Jewels? A royal consort?”

Robin isn’t stupid—he knows women of high birth are often reduced to a commodity and sold to the highest bidder—but the cynicism to which that exact fate has led her goes right to his gut like a well-aimed blow.

Cora’s money wasn’t for him but for the poor he steals for. The urge to warn her, this young queen dowager with a chequered reputation, against the schemes of her own mother proved to be just as strong an incentive. Right now, though, with said queen staring in the face of deception, chances of her believing that—believing _him_ —are slim to none.

“I ask nothing except the freedom to return to my—” Robin stops himself just in time from giving away the one thing in his life worth protecting until his dying breath. “—home.”

He is a wanted man after all; she must know as well as he does. Nothing would be easier than locking him away to rot in her dungeons or staging a public execution to deter others outside the law. That’s a risk she only seems to realise now he’d decided to take.

She turns around, eyes narrowed as she surveys him.

“What does she get out of it?” she asks at long last.

“She said she wanted you to have a child.”

He very nearly shudders as he tells her, uncomfortable with the implication. Cora’s vile plot, though its ultimate goal a mystery, revolted him. Had he done nothing and let it proceed, even though himself not an active participant in it, he’d still have felt complicit.  Nobody deserved to be thus manipulated, by their own parent no less—not even the Queen, whose heart, or so the stories went, was shrouded in ever-growing darkness.

Regina—not the Queen anymore, despite the gown and the way she carries herself, just Regina as her shoulders slump and a hand flies to her stomach and she looks much younger somehow and scared—stares at him, or past him.

“I’m afraid I’ve not the faintest idea why,” he offers for lack of a better explanation.

“But I do.”

* * *

 

Regina listens to her mother—her cruel, selfish, treacherous mother—lecturing her about almighty power and building dynasties, and wonders how she could ever have believed Cora had changed.

Darkness really does destroy you once it’s gotten a taste, doesn’t it? And in light of that simple truth she sees her mother, and she sees herself and her own inevitable fate spelled out.

Except Robin Hood, the notorious outlaw and her promised soulmate, is in a chamber a few doors down, and he’s been decent and helpful, even kind, and he makes her feel things—things she’d long stopped believing in for herself.

She could have this, maybe, with him, if he wants her like his kiss said he did—if she’s bold enough to try.

But not with the threat of Cora’s forceful hand hanging over an unborn child.

No, Regina’s ruined childhood had been enough. No more souls to be bruised and shattered to further Cora’s ambitions. Certainly not if Regina can help it.

And she _can_ help it. It’s drastic, and irreversible, but failsafe. The potion burns all the way down her throat, and her mother watches helplessly as her plan to rule evaporates along with Regina’s prospects of motherhood. Regina tells herself it’s worth it as her scream tears at her vocal chords, but Cora refuses to leave just yet.

“What is it you think you’ve achieved, stupid girl? Do you think the man will want you now—like this? Do you think anyone will? You should have always known your soulmate is a sham. When did a fairy ever help the likes of us? When did one ever listen to your pleas, Regina?”

Her guts are twisting and coiling, slimy like snakes as poison courses through Regina’s veins, and tears prickle in her eyes at this newest kick while she’s already down. No fairy’d ever come to little Regina’s aid, no matter how hard she wished, until she simply stopped wishing. But Tinkerbell had been real—even though she’d been punished for her good intentions—and Robin is real, too.

Cora reads her defiant gaze with ease, and throws back her head with a dry laugh.

“He’s married, you silly girl. To some sickly little whore that no one else would want. Or did you think he was some romantic hero with principles and integrity, waiting to ride off into the sunset with you?”

With that, Cora disappears, finally leaving Regina to sob in peace.

* * *

 

That’s how Robin finds her—on the floor, trembling on cold marble but no longer crying, rocking gently at the aftershocks of the pain.

“Your father let me in,” he tells her softly, almost apologetically, as he attempts to wrap warm furs around her shoulders.

Regina tries to resist, wants to shake him off and send him on his way, but her father knows she’s upset and still prefers this stranger to keep her company rather than comforting her himself, and the realisation leaves her oddly blank.

“She wanted the throne,” she says, figuring saying it out loud can’t hurt more than it does caged in her chest, deciding he might as well know and fill in the blanks if he’s smart enough to play her, her mother, and his own wife in a single stroke. “It’s always been like that with her. I’ve got beauty, and strength, and power,” she repeats her mother’s earlier words bitterly, “Things she’s always wanted for herself.”

“You’re more than those things.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being gentle with her, for speaking kindly, when he knows nothing, when his words—his fucking word—mean nothing.

“You don’t know me,” she spits.

“Perhaps I’d like to.”

“Before you kissed me in the courtyard, who was the apology for?” Part of her—a part she deeply resents—hopes he’ll have an explanation other than _my wife_. When he’s silent, repentant even, and so clearly crushed it robs her of the will to hurt him further for his impudence, Regina lets out a humourless laugh. “So it’s true, then. You are married.”

Her soulmate is _married_ , and he’s a liar and a cheat.

He’s never promised her anything, doesn’t even know about their supposed bond, gave her no more than one kiss for cover and a fair warning where he needn’t have given a damn, and still she’s left betrayed, and raw, and emptier than ever before—even when she’d lost Daniel, the knowledge she’d been loved, and loveable, had been some consolation at least. Now she’s been stripped of all illusion.

“Yes. No.” Regina’s head snaps up, eyes boring holes through him, because how dare he give an answer like that and immediately take it back? Robin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My Marian was sick for a long time. Last winter, she…Sometimes I still can’t quite believe it, you know?”

Oh... _oh_.

She remembers the feeling well. She understands. Of course she does.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, true and sincere, as her dark, doomed heart squeezes mid-skip. She shouldn’t feel relief, not even an ounce of it mixed in with everything else. She’s a monster, and he could never love her.

But he’s holding on to her hand in a gesture she can neither confirm nor deny she’s initiated, holding on to it like it means something, like her touch or her words or her presence are making a difference—and, despite the shame and fear and anger it fills her with, she craves this. Perhaps they could be, well...allies? Friends?

“Everyone around me seeks their own gain,” she reminds him—reminds herself. “Even my dear mother. Why should I trust you?”

“I might be a thief, but I live by a code of honour.” Yet even he must realise how hollow a promise that is. He considers it for a while, considers _her_ much too carefully for her comfort. In the end, he rises from the floor and offers a hand she can’t quite bring herself to take as she stands, finding that same arm around her waist a moment later as her chilled limbs refuse cooperation and he holds her up for the split second it takes for her to regain mastery of them. Only then does he speak again:

“Perhaps it might help if I were to trust you first?”

* * *

The walk is rather long, her attire cumbersome, but she seems to take some amount of, if not pleasure then at least reprieve, in keeping her body busy as her mind no doubt keeps reeling. Occasionally she has a biting remark to spare him, and he quite enjoys their match ot wits. They’re mostly quiet though, leaving each to their thoughts.

Is he a fool for entrusting Regina—the Queen—with his most jealously guarded secret? If he’s wrong, the consequences would be...unthinkable.

How is it that his gut is so unequivocally certain of her then?

He’s not betraying Marian. She’d have wanted him to stay true to his principles, and open to a second chance at happiness—she’d told him as much before her passing. He’s not betraying her memory by seeking the friendship of another woman—even if he knows, feels deep down in his heart, that in time the sentiment might grow into something else.

It’s too early for that for now, for both of them.

Not too early to open the door, though, to let her in—allow her access to his hearth and as well as his heart. She crosses the threshold of the tiny cottage and takes it in as Robin steps to the cradle and retrieves the stirring bundle, holding it to his chest filled with a love and a light he’d never known before the babe’s arrival.

Dark eyes peer over the blanket, dimples flashing as his boy gives him a sleepy smile.

As Robin turns to face her, the sight of Regina’s jaw dropping brings with it new doubts—a realisation that this might be painful for her right now, so shortly after making the tough decision to ingest the fateful potion that would ensure she won’t ever bear children—and he berates himself for not thinking about it sooner.

She bites her lip, an odd sort of wonder in her wide-eyed gaze—and steps closer timidly, her eyes on Robin, as if she were inviting him to change his mind about this. Instead, he offers her a smile and a nod, and then she’s leaning over the child a tad awkwardly.

“Regina, meet my son. Roland—this is Regina.”

Roland, with a blink and a smile, grabs her finger, and with a gasp she lets him have that and her bruised and battered heart.

* * *

From that day on, Regina and Roland are the fastest of friends, doting on each other and thriving in one another’s company.

Regina and Robin, though, are a different story. Robin needs time to let himself move on and love another; Regina, in her own way, needs to do the same—to learn and dare to love again.

Slowly, little by little, they find a way to each other.

Months pass before their next kiss, and a full year until they’re ready to admit they’re together, that the three of them are a family. It’s new still when the darkness Regina is constantly fighting to keep at bay sinks its fangs into her with particular gusto, and she finally tells Robin of pixie dust and its unfulfilled promise. Once again, like the day they’d been introduced, she expects him to run.

Once again, he surprises her.

“Cora told me ages ago, before you sent her on her way back to Wonderland.”

“You believed her? After...everything?”

He smiles at that, that dopey, lopsided thing she adores, and takes her hand, laying it over his chest.

“I believed my gut. And I followed my heart—to you.”


End file.
